


Dame en Rouge

by vld_ml_atla



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 1940s, Aged-Up Character(s), Anastasia AU, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, WW2 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:30:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vld_ml_atla/pseuds/vld_ml_atla
Summary: It's 1940 in Paris, France and the Germans are invading. With all the chaos, Hawkmoth brings a new villain into play, but when Ladybug is left to fight him alone, she loses her memory of everything except Paris.Four years later, the occupation on Paris is lifted and Adrien can finally finish his search for Ladybug. With nothing to stop her from going to Paris, Marinette plans to find her way back to her family and discover who she was before.





	1. Not So Distant Germans

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I watch Anastasia, I can't help but get Miraculous Ladybug vibes, so I'm finally doing it. I did a lot of WWII research for this, but I'm not following history completely for the sake of some plot lines. This is also my first big fic; please go easy on me. I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette is delayed while trying to transform. She begins to rethink her relationship with Chat Noir.

_ 10 juin 1940 _

Smoke and upturned dust filled the air. Sounds of distant rapid gunfire and shouting echoed through the bustling streets of Paris, which felt emptier now than they ever did on a typical summer afternoon.

Fifteen-year-old Marinette Dupain-Cheng navigated her way through the crowd of people as quickly as she could, stepping up on her tiptoes to see over the shoulders of much taller men and women, refugees and Frenchman alike. They weren’t going anywhere, just away.

The mass of bodies pushed against each other and knocked her this way and that, but she was more focused on the alleyway up ahead. All she wanted was a bit of privacy; she hadn’t realized it would be this hard to find. Twenty more feet and she’d be there, but at this rate it felt like miles.

She held her bag firmly at her side, clutching at it like a lifeline. If she lost it now, when she so very needed what was inside, Paris would be doomed.

_ Hold on, Tikki, _ she called out in her mind. _ We’re almost there. _

As if sensing her worries, someone yanked on the bag’s strap in an effort to remove it. Marinette whirled around to face her mugger, ready to give him whatever self-defense she needed to be rid of him. It was a boy, not even two years older than her, but the age and size difference was enough. He was likely a scavenger taking advantage of the chaos to steal a few well-looking purses; if she wasn’t so furious, she might feel flattered her homemade design was enough to catch his eye. Whether he had good taste or not, she needed her purse and she’d do what she could to protect it, even if it meant fighting off a ragged, scuffed-up teen who was probably just hungry.

She stared him down with the force of a thousand angry hornets. “Let me go!”

The boy’s eyes narrowed and he pulled again—harder. “Nothing personal, I just want your bag.”

Now was not the time. And she told him so. “I don’t have time for this.”

She gripped the body tighter and pulled back. They were both surprised he had to jerk forward to keep his hold on the strap. She pulled again while he was distracted, but his grasp was stronger than hers and the purse split open, the contents strewn across the ground in a hapless depiction of who she was.

She didn’t have time to mourn what little belongings she had with her. She turned to scan the ground for what she needed, the people milling around them unhelpful in the most accurate description of the word. When a glimpse of red caught her eye a few feet ahead, she abandoned the purse and leapt forward to scoop Tikki up before she could be trampled.

She gently rubbed the dust from the kwami’s skin. “Are you all right, Tikki?”

“I’m fine,” came the soft squeak from her cupped hands, even as the kwami did her best to lie still and play stuffed animal for anyone who may be watching. “You have to hurry. Chat Noir needs you.”

With one last glance back at the boy greedily pocketing her scant selection of valuables, Marinette dashed the remaining distance to the alley. She could always make another purse.

Once she was sufficiently nestled into the deepest, darkest corner available, she brushed the hair back from her ear. “Tikki, spots on!”

A flash of red light and a toss of her yo-yo and she was in the air, swinging back to where she’d come from. The dust skewed her vision of the scene below, but occasionally she’d see a black and silver figure darting through the haze and vaulting over crowds of bustling people.

She landed on the rooftop of the Palais Bourbon to take stock of the situation. A few moments later, her partner found her still there.

“Hello, m’lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. “It’s a pleasure seeing you here.”

“Chat.” Her voice was all disapproval as she pulled her hand away and turned back to the scene beneath them. “Now is hardly the time to be flirting. This isn’t our everyday akuma.”

He sobered up immediately at the reprieve. “Right.” He stood beside her and followed her gaze.

Frenchman scrambled to flee the city, some headed for the Gare d’Austerlitz to catch a train out while richer Parisians hopped into their automobiles and hastily tried to dodge those on foot. Others sat in carts and wagons, on bicycles and buses. In another moment, the heroes could see what this particular rush was about.

A swarm of Germans moved down the street toward the Palais Bourbon. As it was the capital building, they would need to conquer it first. They wouldn’t have much resistance; the government had left that morning.

Paris knew the Germans were coming; their journey through eastern France had been the only thing in the newspapers lately. Bypassing the Maginot Line and traversing the Ardennes was easy work for them. Getting the British to withdraw from Dunkirk may have been even easier.

It was an odd anticipation, waiting for the bombs to fall and the troops to move in. But they fell on the third of June. Parisians made good use of the gas masks and signs directing them towards shelters that had been distributed and placed the year before. There were casualties, of course, but no one Marinette knew.

Five days later, gunfire could be heard, even from miles away. People began to leave, first the refugees on trains headed nowhere, and today Parisians caught on to the idea that they were no longer safe in their home city. Marinette could only hope her parents were finding their way out right now.

She heard Chat crack his knuckles beside her, making himself more limber and ready for battle. “Well, they came, they saw, let’s kick their butts.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. Taking on an entire army was not the same as battling an akuma, especially knowing any injuries they caused or sustained were permanent. It was terrifying to watch, but what else could they do, when the French government had fled and wouldn’t take action?

“Then what’s our plan?” Chat asked, breaking her from her trance.

“I—I’m not sure.”

He held her eyes anyway, turning her to face him. “I’d follow you anywhere, Ladybug.”

She glanced out over the wreckage left from the bombing a few days earlier, at the steady stream of automobiles and people lined up down the road. What could she do to stop a war from happening? She was just a girl.

Still, she had to try, and at the very least, she would keep a few Parisians and refugees out of harm’s way.

“We’ll help as many as we can get out of the city. Start with those on foot. And then we have to leave. There’s no use in us getting stuck here when we have no plan of attack or aid from the militia.”

“On it.” He saluted her like she was an army general and then hopped off the roof and out of sight.

She shook her head before following him.

The heroes’ presence was met with a slew of different reactions. The closest people milling around outside the Palais Bourbon’s grounds rejoiced when they landed near the gates; others barely noticed the shifting of bodies as people migrated toward the heroes, just kept on walking. Some, who stood looking on in doorways, from windows, and simply by the roadside, watched with disdain.

Ladybug noticed, of course, the lack of support that she felt from these people. And they were right, too, to be so distrustful to put their faith in her. She was little more than a child.

But she also noticed the gentle hand on her back and the softly confident smile Chat Noir gave her. If her partner continually put his trust in her, and he was still alright, then surely she was good enough to get these people to safety without anything going too wrong.

She stood up straighter as if pulling hope and strength from Chat’s fingertips on her spine. It would be fine.

It was more or less slow goings. Despite their advanced strength while transformed, the heroes also had to work their baton and yo-yo to beat the crowd, so one by one they carried what felt like millions of people over buildings and past the city border where they’d hopefully be safer. Sometimes it was in twos for Chat Noir. He’d have a little boy on his shoulders and an even younger girl tucked under one arm as he vaulted from rooftop to rooftop.

They worked until the sun was long past overhead and the sky had begun to fade. There was always someone new waiting to be rescued, someone with ten siblings and three dogs and—

She was dead tired, worn to the bone, but she couldn’t stop; superheroes never rested. Chat Noir, at least, seemed to be doing a little better than her. She could see how exhausted he was, but he was still smiling, he still had that light in his eyes, and he was still chatting it up with people as he carried them above the streets of Paris.

A burst of affection swelled in her chest and caught her off guard. She’d been putting him off for a year. Still he was adamant, flirting and teasing and confessing every moment he got. It’s not like she had anyone, and it’s not that she didn’t care for him, they were just always so busy with fighting akumas. Plus, working out the logistics of being partners and a couple—and keeping their identities a secret—would take more brain power than Ladybug felt like she had right now.

And, to be completely honest, she was a little insecure about who he’d think of the girl behind the mask, because she was sure the subject would come up eventually, especially if they were dating.

But seeing him like this...she’d have to rethink her feelings for him, once there was a quiet stretch of time when she wasn’t busy trying to save the city from war.

A chorus of screams came from below as they ferried a mother and child over the Gare d’Austerlitz. Ladybug landed on the roof, trying to think through her options, but her mind felt numb and her limbs were so sore she wasn’t sure she could follow up on any solutions she could think of.

She didn’t realize Chat Noir was right next to her until he spoke. “Akuma?”

It took her body a minute to catch up with her brain, but she finally nodded. “It must be. I didn’t see any Germans coming this way.”

“What do we do?”

Ladybug stared down at the people quickly fleeing the building. They were clearly running from something, but what? She knew she had to find out, had to do something about it, but even the sight of people moving made her weary.

“Ladybug?”

She met Chat’s gaze and he seemed to recognize the sheer amount of weight she was crushed under. He took the little boy from her arms and palmed his baton once again. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Wait,” she said, catching his arm.

He smiled down at her easily. “Don’t worry. You can do this.”

That hadn’t been her worry; he had, but the extra boost felt good. She’d really have to respond differently the next time he professed his undying love.

He turned and shared a few words with the boy’s mother, then leapt off the roof without her. Ladybug watched him go, then shook her head to dismiss the unexpected rush of emotions and swung off the building.

The doors into the train station were clear by now, and when she went inside, the station itself looked completely deserted. It must have been bad, whatever this akuma was, to have people abandoning their fastest route out of Paris while the Germans were here.

She searched the main hall for any sign of the akuma, but found it completely empty. It was, however, rather odd to find briefcases and carpet bags scattered across the floor. There was a chance it had followed everyone out, if she was tired enough that she’d missed it. On that note, she didn’t even know what she was looking for, and maybe choosing to go deeper into the station was a way to get a moment of quiet rest, but she liked to think it was instinct.

She was about to tell herself to turn around and search somewhere else when she rounded the corner and came face to face with Hawkmoth.


	2. Playing with Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse of the face behind the akuma and the heroes' fears. Chat isn't ready for what's coming.

“Don’t let go, Serge,” his mother said as she took his hand. He almost didn’t hear her with all the noise. He didn’t like the noise.

He was just a kid; he didn’t know what was going on. It was all so confusing and frightening. One moment he was sleeping and the next he was being shuffled out the door and down a busy street. He’d barely had time to grab his favorite teddy, which he was now trying to hold onto and hold high enough so no one would step on it.

“Maman, where are we going?” Where was anyone going for that matter? It was too early for any of this.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t hear him over the noise. He didn’t like the noise.

Maman stopped moving, but Serge wasn’t sure where they were. It was big and crowded with people, and she made him wait in line with her for hours.

He played with his stuffed bear while they waited. It was missing an eye; it had been missing for so long, he couldn’t remember a time when it had two eyes. He made it fly and stomp around, and when he was tired again, he simply held onto it.

He thought when they’d finally reached the end of the line, they’d be where they were going and he could sit down and maybe sleep some more, but there was nothing there but an angry-looking man with a blue cap.

“There’s no more room on this train. You’ll have to wait for the next.”

“Please, Monsieur. It’s just me and my son.”

“Maman,” Serge said, pulling on her arm.

The two adults looked down at him and the man’s mean face softened a fraction. “I’m sorry, Madame, but there is nothing I can do. This train is full.”

Maman nodded and picked Serge up when he pulled on her arm again. “We just have to wait, _ mon chéri _.”

He fingered the collar of her dress. “Where are we going?”

She wouldn’t look at him, but she smiled. “We’re going to visit Grandma and Grandpa. Won’t that be fun?”

He frowned. “Why do we have to leave? I don’t want to leave.”

“Serge,” she said, stern-faced and impatient now. “We have to leave. It isn’t safe here anymore. The Germans...aren’t very nice right now.”

Serge didn’t know who or what the Germans were, but he didn’t have to. He knew he was scared of them, especially if Maman was scared too.

They waited around on the platform for hours until the next train slid in. “Don’t let go, Serge,” Maman said again as she took his hand once more and the train stopped. A sudden flood of people rushing to get in caught him off guard and he couldn’t hold onto his teddy and her hand at the same time.

He reached down to pick it up and tug it out from under moving feet, but when he looked back up to take his mother’s hand again, it was gone.

“Maman?”

“Serge!” he heard her call over the noise. He didn’t like the noise.

The people stopped moving around him and when he had pushed his way through the crowd, the train was starting to pull away without him.

“Maman!”

Serge dug his fingers deep into the worn fuzz of his stuffed bear, tears welling up in his eyes. He was alone in a big city filled with Germans. The thought made his stomach roll and his body shake.

When the train was too far away to see, he walked away to find the man in the blue cap. Surely he could help.

He roamed the station, his hands clinging tight to his teddy bear, but when he couldn’t find the man in the blue cap, he worried the Germans had taken him too.

He found an empty space on a wall and sat down.

Maman was gone. The man in the blue cap had disappeared. Serge was alone. Alone in a city full of scary things like the Germans.

He didn’t notice the black butterfly until it was right in front of him. He’d heard they were bad, but he’d never seen one before. He certainly didn’t expect it to hide in his teddy and talk to him.

_ “Alone and scared, and nobody to help you. But I will, if you help me in return. Terrorizer, I am Hawkmoth. I can give you the power to instill the same fear and abandonment you have in the very people who caused you to lose your mother, if you give me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous.” _

A black and purple haze covered his vision and he knew the butterfly would help. “Yes, Hawkmoth.”

The people around him stepped back when they noticed the dark aura, and once he had been fully encased in blackness, someone screamed. All eyes turned to him and he was a million different nightmares at once. Another scream, and another, until everyone was backing up and running. They fled the station as quickly as they could, tripping over themselves and what little luggage they’d brought with them.

_ “Now we wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir.” _

“You promised I could hurt the Germans.”

_ “And you will, Terrorizer, all in good time. But first, the miraculous.” _

“Yes, Hawkmoth.” Terrorizer paced the platform. He clutched the now-black bear in his hands, its single glass eye pulsing red. The Germans would rue the day they invaded Paris.

* * *

Ladybug stood face to face with Hawkmoth. When he saw her, he sneered. Evil, he was pure evil. She wanted to turn, to run away, just so she could get this sickening feeling out of the pit of her stomach. Any other day she wouldn’t back down, but she was tired and afraid and who knew where Chat Noir was or if he’d find her.

She’d have to find him then. Yes, she could certainly do that. And then maybe he would know what to do, because she couldn’t think of a single thing but him.

All she had to do was lead Hawkmoth to him.

Palming her yo-yo, she raced straight for him and when he lunged forward, she veered off to the left. She leapt onto the railway, coaxing him down—hopefully—to his doom. She kept on the tracks, knowing more through the prickling of her skin than through eyesight that he was behind her. Along with the light at the end of the tunnel came a spark of hope, a remembrance of Chat’s hand on her back earlier that morning and his words not half an hour ago: _ You can do this _.

She burst out through the opening and swung up onto the ledge, skimming the fading crowds for her partner. It didn’t help that he paraded around in leather dark as night and the light was fading.

Hawkmoth exited the tunnel and whipped around in search of her, the brooch at his neck gleaming scarlet despite the low light. If she could just get his miraculous, she’d not only fix her immediate fear, but there would never be another akuma again. This was her chance to save Paris once and for all.

A black mass entered her peripheral vision and she started. “Sorry,” Chat Noir said as he perched next to her. He peered down to get a closer look and— “Is that you?”

“What?”

“It’s you.” He pointed down at Hawkmoth as if that would change his appearance. “Except you’re black and red instead of red and black. It almost looks like you’re...akumatized.” He swiveled his head to look at her. “You’re not akumatized, are you?”

She swatted his arm with the back of her hand. “Of course not. That’s not me. It’s Hawkmoth.”

“What?”

She frowned. “Or at least I thought it was, but if we’re seeing different things...”

“Then we don’t even know who we’re looking at or where the akuma is.”

She was about to agree when the akuma moved. Its dark form slid into the shadows of a looming building and raced down the street. If not for the uproar of screams it trailed behind it, it would’ve been hard to follow.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“That’s not me, Chat.”

He laughed. “Come on, let's go!”

They followed the akuma until it stopped on the bridge across from the Palais Bourbon. It seemed to be waiting for something, so they waited atop a nearby building.

“I wonder why it’s here,” Chat whispered in her ear. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. It made her jump and almost lose her balance. He chuckled even as he gave her a curious glance. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. And it’s obvious the akuma came here because this is where the Germans are.” She pointed down to the soldiers standing guard at the fence. They chatted idly, apparently unaware or unconcerned with the matter at hand. “Hawkmoth must want them gone, or whoever is under that facade does. Either way, we have to keep them out of the Germans’ way. They didn’t come here to play and I’m sure magic won’t stop them from harming whoever Hawkmoth has under his control.”

“Right.” He nodded as he ticked each item off on his fingers. “So keep the akuma victim out of danger, figure out where the akuma actually is, and don’t bother the Germans. Got it.”

“Oh, and be careful.”

He cracked a lazy smile. “I’m always careful, m’lady.”

“Let’s get this over with. Lucky Charm!” She threw an arm up into the air and caught the hand mirror that fell when the glowing ladybugs disappeared.

“This isn’t the time for vanity, LB,” Chat said, cocking his head, “but you can check your makeup if you think it’ll help.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “You would know about vanity, wouldn’t you, kitty?”

He pressed a hand against his chest, feigning offense. “I can’t help it if I’m purr-fect.”

She clipped the hand mirror to her belt and readied her yo-yo. “No time to waste. The akuma's on the move.”

* * *

She was right. The akuma was on the move. Not-Ladybug was approaching the guards stationed outside the Palais Bourbon. They hadn’t noticed it yet, but it would soon be close enough they wouldn’t not notice.

“Here’s the plan,” Ladybug said. “You distract Terrorizer without alerting the soldiers and try to lead him back onto the bridge. I’ll figure out what to do with this”—she gestured to the mirror on her hip—“and hopefully we can purify the akuma and get out of here before too long.”

“Fur-well, m’lady,” he said and swan-dived off the building. Chat Noir spun midair and used his baton to break his fall, all while laughing softly to himself.

_ That one was good, even if she hates it when I do that _, he thought as he made a note to remember it for next time.

Hopefully there wouldn’t be a next time. He always hated saying goodbye to her; it made his heart heavy and it ached until he saw her again. He secretly wished that when she spoke of leaving Paris to fight another day, she meant together, as more than just a superhero team.

She’d been acting awfully strange today, and he could’ve sworn he was the reason, but she’d never say. If she ever did want to give him a chance, she knew where to find him. And if she didn’t want to be so direct about it, she could just wait until he told her he loved her again.

He sobered himself up; there was no use putting Ladybug in danger by failing to distract the akuma. It was getting too close to the soldiers. They were bound to notice in another moment or two.

This called for stealth and precision. He needed to be distracting enough that he’d draw the attention of the akuma without also alerting the guards.

He went through the list of options: he could whistle; he could use his baton to redirect moonlight into the akuma’s eyes; he could flat out tackle the akuma and hope the guards wouldn’t see another shadowy figure moving in the darkness.

An idea came to mind and he ran a little ways down a side street, looking around for something that might help. He found a metal trash can on the curb, picked it up, and threw it as high as he could. When it crashed against the cement road, he was sure it was loud enough the soldiers would have heard. With his luck, he may even have drawn the akuma’s attention.

He bolted back to where the bridge met the avenue. A quick glance at the gates to the Palais Bourbon told him his plan had worked and the guards were distracted.

Not-Ladybug stood its ground, searching the sky in preparation for an attack. Little did it know he was on foot.

He raced past in hopes it would follow him, but it didn’t take the bait. When he struck again, he made sure to grab onto it. It was the wrong move; the akuma reached for his ring and he had no choice but to let go. It was enough, however. He’d drawn it further from the Palais Bourbon and deeper into the shadows.

A gleam of red, pulsing light caught his eye when he turned to attack again. It was one of Not-Ladybug’s earrings, but he didn’t know what it meant.

And he didn’t have time to focus on it because—“Adrien?”—someone was calling his name.

She sounded terrified and desperate and he wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t without giving away his identity. So he quelled the urge and tried to pay attention to the akuma.

Ladybug landed next to him in the shadows. “Where did she come from? I thought the streets had been cleared.”

“She shouldn’t be out here,” Chat said, trying to sound as if he didn’t care.

“You deal with her and I’ll see if my idea with this mirror pans out.”

He nodded stiffly and slunk away to intercept the familiar woman. Not wanting to alarm her, he approached her slowly. At the first sight of movement in the black stillness, she started, but when she recognized him, her face relaxed.

“Thank goodness! Chat Noir, it’s my son, Adrien!” She pointed to the akuma, who was now in battle with Ladybug. If it wasn’t for the color reversal, he never would’ve been able to tell them apart.

But she seemed to think her son had been akumatized, and he couldn’t exactly tell her why he knew he wasn’t.

“They’re going to hurt him!” She took a step forward and he moved to hold her back. He didn’t know what she saw, but he knew she was frightened. “Please! You have to help him.”

Her eyes—eyes he knew well—were so wide that when he looked back, he felt he would be able to see whatever nightmare she imagined. Instead, Not-Ladybug was crouched over the real one and reaching for her miraculous. The mirror lay a few yards away and out of reach.

“Promise me you’ll stay here,” Chat Noir called as he jumped into action.

He tackled Not-Ladybug and pinned it to the ground.

“Adrien!”

He should’ve seen it coming, but at least Ladybug was safe.

Too late did he realize her screaming had attracted unwanted attention. The German soldiers meandered away from the fence to see what all the ruckus was about. He could sense them towering over him and froze. He may have been a superhero, but he wasn’t sure how guns factored into the equation.

“Who are you and why are you here?”

Chat slowly rolled off the akuma, and in hindsight, it may have been what saved him and caused everything else to go awry. The soldiers immediately lifted their guns and aimed at Not-Ladybug. Whatever they saw, they didn’t like.

“Adrien, no!”

She was there in the blink of an eye, standing in front of the akuma, and then she was on the ground.

It all happened so fast he didn’t know if he could have saved her.

...

“No.”

...

_ Mom. _


	3. Murphy's Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a look into Gabriel's mind. Chat does something stupid and Marinette gives in to the inevitable.

_ “No!” _

Hawkmoth disconnected his telepathic link with Terrorizer and let down his transformation. He needed to get to the Palais Bourbon—_ now _.

Nathalie was at her desk when Gabriel was leaving his office. She stood as if at attention as he passed, following him out the front door when he said nothing. “Sir?”

“The car, immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” She ran ahead to start the engine, but he stopped her before she could get behind the wheel.

“I go alone.”

She seemed perplexed by the idea, even going so far as to open her mouth to protest. “Sir, I’m not sure...”

“I go alone,” he said again, trying to curb his anger at her. It wasn’t her fault Emilie was—

He got into the car and drove away to distract himself from finishing the thought. He drove faster than the roads allowed, but the curfew the Germans had instilled not two hours prior meant no one would be out on the streets anyhow.

The scene was set for his arrival. Chat Noir held her limp body in his arms, trying to wake her while he...cried? The Germans towered over them wearing matching looks of confusion; they didn’t even have the decency to look contrite. Terrorizer seemed to have disappeared and Ladybug hung at the edge of his vision, watching as he moved towards his wife.

“Emilie.”

Chat Noir looked up at the sound. Upon closer inspection, he could see the tears wetting his mask and cheeks. She whispered something to him and he wept all over again. He bent over her once more and something passed between them.

When Gabriel finally reached for her, he handed her over reluctantly, standing, but not altogether upright.

Gabriel pushed the hair out of Emilie’s face, rocking her back and forth, more to soothe himself than anything else. This couldn’t be happening. But he followed the trail of blood down to her belly and sure enough, there it was—a bullet wound right below her ribcage.

She was crying, in pain or in sadness, but she smiled at him. “Take care of Adrien.”

He shook his head. “No. You won’t leave me. I love you.”

She closed her eyes, and didn’t open them again.

He almost couldn’t hear it, but Chat Noir whispered, “Cataclysm.”

* * *

Ladybug shook her head. She couldn’t be hearing right. But when she looked at Chat Noir, his hand shimmered an eerie black. He glared down the Germans, holding his hand out like the weapon it was. “Now, who pulled the trigger?”

To make matters worse, her earrings were beeping the five-minute warning.

She stepped towards him carefully, extending her hand for him to take. “Chat. Don’t do this. This isn’t you.”

“How would you know what’s me and what isn’t?” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and she flinched. “You don’t know me. You won’t let me tell you.”

She tried not to take the words to heart; he was obviously disturbed by the woman’s death, whoever she was. Still, he’d never said the words so bluntly before. With her confusing feelings for him, it cut deeper than she wanted it to. Was she wrong to keep herself—all of herself—from him?

_ B-b-beep. _

Blinking away the unpreventable tears, she reached out to him again. “Please, Chat.”

He turned his head to look at her this time, and whatever he saw in her, fear or sorrow, convinced him to stagger back. He tried to catch himself on the bridge railing, but the touch was corrupted. Cracks formed in the metal as black tendrils leaked from his palm and spread over the railing. The decay continued down the side of the stone wall and beneath his feet, creating an ever-expanding radius of destruction around him.

Chat only noticed when the railing crumbled to ash in his hand, throwing him off balance. The Germans had backed up to the fence of the Palais Bourbon, but the man holding his dead wife in his arms wasn’t aware or didn’t mind what would happen to him when the bridge collapsed.

Ladybug ran to him. “Sir, we need to move.”

“How dare you.” He wheeled on her, causing her to take a step back. “You call yourselves the heroes of Paris, but you don’t save anyone!”

Her lip quivered, but she moved towards him anyway. “I’m trying to save you.”

She pulled him up by the arm and he picked up his wife. His eyes widened when he saw the rotting stone racing to consume the ground beneath his feet. He seemed to understand the urgency now; he lifted his wife into his arms and carried her a safe distance away from the bridge.

_ B-b-beep. _

“Chat!”

He stood there still, shocked and probably thinking he deserved whatever awaited him at the bottom of the Seine.

“Chat!” she called again. “We have to go.”

His eyes met hers and she could see he was crying again. Her heart ached at the sight, but she didn’t have time to comfort him or commiserate with him.

“I’m sorry.” She was next to him now, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the bridge. He stumbled once, then caught himself and followed her.

...

_ I’d follow you anywhere _.

...

They turned at the sound of crashing to see chunks of the stone break off and plunk into the Seine. Still, the blackness came for them. It even seemed to reach up and forward into the air as it crept off the bridge and into the road.

“You have to stop, Chat.”

He watched it, frozen, confused. “I—I don’t know how. I can’t.”

“You can do it,” she whispered, squeezing his hand still in hers.

He shook his head, another tear escaping down the curve of his cheek. “I can’t. She’s gone.”

She released his hand so she pull his head down to her level. “I know it hurts, _ minou _, I know.”

Leaning his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes and cried. She closed her eyes as well, and in that moment, it was just them. She didn’t care whether the chaos devoured them or not. She had him.

_ B-b-beep. _

She dared a peek at the wreckage. The tendrils had stopped. Whatever the blackness had covered was dusted. A gaping hole left the bridge impassable and part of the road had been cremated, but the cataclysm had ceased and everyone was okay.

“You did it.”

Chat Noir opened his eyes and turned his head to survey the damage, sighing in relief when it didn’t look too bad. He watched her curiously, but his eyes were tired. His head was still on hers and his hands were rested on her hips; it felt so natural that when he collapsed into her, she didn’t push him away. And when he pulled back to kiss her, she didn’t stop him.

_ B-b-beep. _

She drew away, scanning her surroundings for a suitable hiding place. She only had a minute left.

“Over there,” Chat said, untangling one of his arms to point to an alleyway down the road.

She started off towards it, pulling Chat behind her. When they reached the alley, she pushed him against the building around the corner. “Stay here.” She disappeared down the alley and a flash of red light followed.

“That was a close one,” Tikki squeaked when the transformation had died.

“Sorry, Tikki.”

The kwami gave her a mischievous grin and Marinette’s stomach flopped in anticipation of what was coming next. “You kissed Chat Noir.”

“Tikki! Now is not the time. We’ve got to get you something to eat so I can go find the akuma.” She moved to dig through her purse for a macaroon, but stopped. “Oh, no!” Her purse had been stolen that morning. She’d forgotten with all that had happened. She didn’t have anything to give Tikki and she still had an akuma running rampant.

What’s more, Chat Noir was right around the corner. She couldn’t exactly go home without giving away her identity.

“What are we going to do?” Tikki asked.

“I need to talk to Chat Noir.” Marinette carefully made her way back to the corner, staying close against the wall to avoid being seen. “Chat?”

“Hmm?” The sound, not even a word, was so much more dismal than any of his usual responses. He must still have been hurting. It made her veer off topic.

“Who was she?”

He was silent as he considered his answer. And then: “Do you really want to know?”

She understood what he was saying; if he told her, she would know too much about him. But how could she let him suffer in silence when he needed her? Wasn’t ending pain the reason for heroes?

Marinette held out her hand. “I do.”

He inhaled sharply, obviously surprised, then placed his hand in hers. “Well, she is—or...was—my mother.”

She blinked, unsure of what she was actually hearing. “Your mother? Oh, Chat.”

She’d been surprised when he’d first started crying, but it made sense now. That’s why he’d reacted so viciously. That’s why his cataclysm had reached so far. He was in pain, he was hurting, and it was consuming him.

He was silent again, probably nodding and forgetting she couldn’t see him. After another few minutes, he spoke again. “Do you have a plan?”

“We need to find the akuma, but first, I need to get my kwami some food. You too,” she said, and then added, “if you’re coming.”

“What do you mean ‘if’?”

“Chat, your mother just—” She cut herself off. No need to remind him. He knew.

And with all that was going on, maybe he needed to know her too. If they were going to leave to fight another day, it would be convenient to not have to hide their identities. She knew what Chat Noir would say about it, but she still wasn’t sure of it herself.

“All I mean,” she continued, “is that you may not be feeling up to it and I don’t want to push you. Take some time. Let yourself grieve. I’ll find the akuma." She was dead tired, but she'd do it. "I’ll find it and fix this and then...” In a split second, she was sure. “And then I’ll come back for you and we can get out of Paris. Together.”

“Together?”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the brick wall. Of all the directions she’d imagined today going, this wasn’t it, but aside from the fact that everything that could go wrong did go wrong, she couldn’t claim it was altogether horrible.

It would be nice, she realized, to know the boy behind the mask. It would be nice to feel the touch of his fingers entwined with hers without the layers of leather their suits provided. It would even be nice listening to his lame cat puns all day long because she knew they wouldn’t stay apart.

“Yes. Together.”


	4. When the Chat's Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Adrien mourns, Plagg reunites with his true love. Ladybug runs into someone she shouldn't know and gains a bit of courage.

_ “Where are you going to go?” _

_ “I think I’ll check on Master Fu. We haven’t heard from him all day. I want to make sure he left or at least see that he’s okay if he’s still here.” _

_ “That’s a good plan.” _

The warmth—the pride—the sheer amount of love in her voice, even after almost half an hour, made him weak in the knees.

_ “I’ll meet you there when I’m done, and then we can get out of here.” _

He knew she was serious. She never said anything she didn’t mean, and it was never half-hearted.

He’d been walking around since she’d told him to leave, too afraid to go home and putting off what he’d told her he’d do. It wasn’t that he was worried about Master Fu; the man, though incredibly old and frail, could take care of himself. It was more the fact that once he got there, he knew he’d be waiting around for her to come. He wasn’t much of a patient person, not when it came to LB.

So he strolled the dark streets of Paris as if it were a normal night, except no one else was out, and he’d kissed Ladybug, and his mother had died.

Adrien cried.

He hadn’t forgotten—never. He’d just been pushing it to the back of his mind and trying to forget. Of course he couldn’t, but when it’d happened and his father had shown up...well, he hadn’t liked watching him cry.

In fact, it was probably the first time he’d ever seen him cry.

There was something so unsettling about the whole thing. How had his father known where she was? Or had he just been roaming the streets in search of his wife and son? Whether he’d known or not, he seemed to arrive at the most fortunate moment.

None of this was fortunate, except maybe Ladybug’s promise, but at what cost?

“Hey, kid,” Plagg said, finally coming out of his hiding place. “I’m...sorry, but do you think I could get some cheese?”

Adrien tried to laugh; it didn’t feel right. “Sure.” He couldn’t keep stalling, so—“Maybe Master Fu will have some.”

When he arrived, the shop was dark like the rest of Paris. Knocking seemed too loud, so he opened the door and slipped inside. The main room was quieter than usual, or maybe it was just his mood. Still, he felt like all of Paris could hear him as he whispered, “Master Fu?”

There was no response, not that he’d expected one with his voice barely a decibel above silent. He stepped further inside, slowly wandering to the back room either to keep him or the old man from getting a scare. Sliding the door open, he looked around. The room was empty—emptier than it should have been.

The furniture was all there, but the shelves were cleared and the cabinet doors were left cracked at odd angles. Even the gramophone with the miracle box inside was gone from its usual perch on the sideboard on the far wall. The plants scattered around the room shifted eerily in an unfelt breeze and Adrien decided he didn’t want to be here anymore.

He backpedaled into the hall and headed for the kitchen instead. It was usually where Master Fu prepared herbal remedies for his customers or potions for their kwamis during especially difficult akumas. Plagg flew out of Adrien’s shirt, whizzing in and out of cabinets, grumbling when he found nothing. Adrien, tired himself from the day’s work, fighting the akuma, and the subsequent emotional trauma, sat on the floor and leaned his head back against the wall while he waited.

Plagg finally emerged from an old icebox in the corner of the room. He held aloft a piece of cheese, eyeing it hungrily as he drooled out the side of his mouth. “Look what I fo—” The kwami stopped short, lowering his prize. “Adrien?”

He was crying again, but he couldn’t exactly help it. He’d never see her again, never hug her or talk to her again. It weighed on his heart, which had found its way up past his throat into the back of his head. It pounded and pounded against his skull, clouding his already blurred vision. If he had his way, he’d suffocate right here and never wake up.

Plagg flew forward, laying a paw on Adrien’s hand. “I know it doesn’t help, kid, but you’ve still got me.”

Adrien’s heart constricted even as he smiled, more tears flowing over and down his cheeks at the motion. When he could speak, he said, “It does help.”

* * *

Marinette ran until she reached the bakery. It looked abandoned; she hoped it was.

Tikki appeared next to her. “Why are you stopping?”

“What if they didn’t leave because they couldn’t find me?” Her palms were sweating, but it wasn’t from the run. “What if they’re stuck here with the Germans because of me?”

“Marinette, they would do anything for you.”

Marinette sighed. “That’s what I’m worried about, Tikki.”

She pulled the door open, forgetting about the bell. She cringed at the sound that seemed to ricochet through the room, but no one met her in the bakery. When she tiptoed to the back of the building, the kitchen was empty too. She’d been lucky for the first time in ages, despite being a symbol of good luck.

She went straight for the refrigerator in the pantry where they kept the day’s leftovers to sell tomorrow at half price. Tikki selected her favorite cookie and nibbled on it happily. When she was finished, they moved to leave, but the light flicked on.

Before Marinette could even think, Tikki rushed forward to close the pantry door. They could hear the muffled sound of footsteps on the other side, and then a frightened voice spoke up. “Who’s there?”

Marinette swallowed. She couldn’t answer; she wouldn’t lie to her father. Instead, she turned to Tikki. “Spots on,” she whispered.

When the red light died down, she took a hesitant step forward. She turned the knob, calling out quietly so as not to scare him further. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s just me, Ladybug.”

Tom Dupain stood, frozen and shocked as he stared at the heroine in front of him. He dropped the wooden baking peel he held up in defense. “Ladybug. W-we weren’t expecting you. Why are you here?”

She looked from her father to her mother, who stood in the entrance to the kitchen, hugging herself as if that’s what was keeping her together. She looked like she’d been crying.

“Uh...” Ladybug hedged. “I’m sorry for intruding, and for any fear I may have caused, but I needed something sweet for my kwami to eat.”

Sabine stepped forward, eyes wide. “Have you seen our daughter, Marinette?”

She nodded. “I have. She was on her way home—to you—when I...ran into her.”

Her parents lit up, sharing an excited glance. “And she’s okay?”

Ladybug nodded again. “She wanted to come back here, but I told her it wasn’t safe. I took her to the border. I think...I think she said something about finding her grandmother.”

“Gina?”

“Yes,” Tom said. “Marinette would know where to go. She’s always been a clever girl.”

Ladybug smiled. Her father always knew how to make her feel better about herself, even when he wasn’t trying.

“Are you going to fight an akuma?” Sabine asked after they’d finished reveling in their daughter’s safety.

She hesitated. When she’d tried to take down the akuma before, she’d failed. And now that she didn’t have Chat Noir to help her, she was worried she wouldn’t be able to beat it. She’d fought plenty of akumas before—a fair amount without her partner—but this time was different. She didn’t even know where to begin looking for the akuma. How could she purify it when she couldn’t see what she was really looking at?

“Ladybug? Are you all right?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” When her voice was still thick, she coughed. “You two should get out of Paris and...and find your daughter. I’m sure she’ll show up.”

Sabine pulled her into and hug and she wanted to cry at her mother’s kindness. “Thank you, Ladybug.” The older woman held her at arm’s length. “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for as well.”

Ladybug swiped a stray tear from her eye as discreetly as she could. “Thank you, Madame Cheng.”

“Is there anything else that you need?” Tom asked, placing a large hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, no,” she said, even as her mind wandered back to her memories of Chat that evening. But as she looked up into their smiling faces, she couldn’t help smiling in return. “I have everything I need.”

She opened the back door and stepped outside before she could do anything stupid. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. Something in her wanted to run away right now, but she knew she couldn’t. Maybe it was Chat losing his mother, but she had the sinking feeling she’d never see her parents again.

No. She couldn’t think like that. When this was all over, she’d find Chat Noir and take him to where she told her parents she’d be.

Until then, she needed to find the akuma. Now that everyone was off the streets, she couldn’t follow the screams. Her best bet was starting at square one.

She swung her way back to the train station and forced herself to go inside. Though she hadn’t expected to, she found the akuma on the platform again. It didn’t notice her; it seemed too preoccupied waiting, whether for her or for something else, she didn’t know.

If she was going to do this by herself, she’d need the mirror, but she’d lost it in the first battle. Maybe she could confuse it into giving away the location of the akuma.

She’d have to think like Chat Noir.

“Hey, butterfly!” she called as she stepped out into the low light.

The akuma swung around to face her. “Don’t call me that.” The voice was certainly Hawkmoth’s—part of the akuma’s illusion—but something sounded off.

“I don’t know what else to call you. You haven’t exactly given me your name.”

It hesitated for a moment, cocking its head as if trying to listen for something. Unsatisfied, it glared up at her. “Terrorizer.”

“Oof. He’s getting lazy these days.” She meandered forward slowly so as not to alarm him, swinging her yo-yo back and forth lazily at her side. He seemed confused enough without her intervention. She’d never convinced a victim to hand over their akuma, but if it was possible, Terrorizer would be the one. “What is he even promising you?”

He looked at her with terrified eyes—eyes too scared to be Hawkmoth’s, but it still made invisible spiders crawl over her skin. “Maman.”

Ladybug didn’t know what he meant by that, and he didn’t expand on it, but the way he said the word, small and fragile...he couldn’t have been more than a boy. She shivered involuntarily, her gaze shifting to the mirror she could now see was tucked in his pocket. “Did you lose her?” she asked to keep him talking. “I can help you find her too.”

Terrorizer pulled away when he realized how close she was. “No. No one wanted to help me before.” He lifted the cane he held to wield it as a weapon. “You don’t want to help me either.”

He came at her and she ran.


	5. Fighting Fear with Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladybug is lost without her partner and Terrorizer gains a new perspective. Adrien is always right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning took longer than expected, but we're finally underway.

Ladybug ducked as Terrorizer swung his cane at her. Talking obviously hadn’t worked; she’d have to fight him, somehow find the akuma, and purify it. Easier said than done, but she’d do it—she always had.

As she dodged another attack, she reached for the mirror, but he brushed past her faster than she would have liked. He stabbed with the cane this time, making her step back into a wall. He’d cornered her.

She needed time to regroup, to think and plan. She needed Chat Noir.

She threw her yo-yo up at him. He recoiled in anticipation of the hit, but she’d aimed for the metal beams overhead. It wrapped around one and she pulled herself up.

She tried to catch her breath; it was hard to breathe even though she hadn’t exerted herself all that much. She knew there was a different face behind the familiar voice, but it still rattled her to be looking at Hawkmoth.

There had to be something that could distinguish the real Hawkmoth from the fake—something that was hopefully where the akuma was hiding.

She quickly compared them in her head. Same silver mask, same violet suit, same cane...different miraculous. Hawkmoth’s miraculous was a deep purple; Terrorizer’s was red. That had to be it. That had to be where the akuma was hiding.

She needed to get that miraculous and fast. The day had been tiring enough with the Germans invading and her arms were already sore from carrying countless people over Paris. She wanted to finish this. She wanted to get back to Chat and her parents.

“Ladybug?”

Her head swiveled at the sound of her partner’s voice. Why was he here? He should have been at Master Fu’s mourning the loss of his mother.

Yet when she peered down at the platform far below, there he stood, alone. Hawkmoth was nowhere in sight.

She lowered herself down, weary and so glad to see his face. “Chat Noir.”

“Hey.” He brushed a hand across her cheek. “You look tired. You need to rest.”

She leaned into the touch, even as her mind screamed at her to focus. “I have to capture this akuma and get you out of here. I don’t have time to rest.”

He dropped his hand and frowned at her. “Ladybug. Don’t you understand? You don’t have what it takes to defeat Terrorizer.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at the sudden attack. “What?”

“You’re weak,” he said, shrugging as if the sentiment should have been obvious. “You always have been.” He stepped towards her, gripped her by the shoulder, and turned her in the direction of the exit. “Go home. Paris doesn’t need you.”

“Chat!” His name was breathless; her lungs were useless. She tried to look at him, but he was too far behind her. She did, however, manage to catch the glimpse of red on his ring. Strange, but it should have been green.

Ladybug snapped her head up, eyes wide. This wasn’t her Chat Noir.

That’s why Hawkmoth had disappeared, why her partner was saying such discouraging things—Terrorizer was feeding her a new kind of horror.

“You’re right, Chat,” she said as she reached for his hand on her shoulder. “I can’t do this.”

He coughed out a harsh laugh in her ear. Whereas earlier his hot breath had been too welcome, now it was infuriating. “I guess you’re at least clever enough to understand that.”

Once she had a secure hold on the ring, she slid it off and whipped around to face him. A young boy stood in his place, but he was a shadow. Made head to toe of black cloud, he moved much quicker than she could as he grabbed back what she had in her hand.

A teddy bear. It was a black teddy bear just as shadowy as its owner. It had a single red eye that stared her down, the same red on her fake partner’s ring and Hawkmoth’s brooch.

Now that she’d seen who he really was, his illusion didn’t work on her. He wasn’t Hawkmoth and he wasn’t Chat Noir; he was just Terrorizer. He couldn’t fool her anymore, but the sense of dread that had been knotted in her belly since she’d first seen Hawkmoth twisted tighter.

He seemed to understand her confusion on the matter and laughed. “Everyone’s afraid of the dark, Ladybug. It’s everywhere you go—you can’t escape it.”

She pulled back and tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t seem to come. He was a little boy. He was just a little boy. Surely she couldn’t be afraid of a child. She’d have to face this head on.

“Square one,” she muttered to herself. “We meet again.”

The mirror was her best bet. He held it in one hand, the bear in the other. He had no form of offense; he could only run or dodge. She would use this to her advantage.

Eyeing the space around them, Ladybug formed her plan and maneuvered him into place. She tossed her yo-yo, latching it onto a sign pole and stringing it along behind her. She circled him a few times to be safe, careful not to get her own stumbling feet caught in the magical line she was trailing.

Once she was satisfied, she ran straight for him. It caught him off guard and he dropped the mirror to get a better grip on the akuma. She palmed it as she sped past. Her muscles strained as she scaled him, jumping up off him like he was a springboard. She flew over a beam and pulled the cord tight as she landed. It retracted into her yo-yo, the force snapping the pole in half.

Terrorizer, confused at the rapidly enclosing line around him, tried to jump over it. Though speed was on his side, luck was not. He tripped, the cord catching his feet and lifting him high into the air.

She readied the hand mirror as she approached his dangling form. When she brought it before his face, he screamed.

It was a blood-curdling sound—the kind that made her want to rip her ears off. It frightened her for a moment, to be hearing such a sound from a child so young.

She shook out of the daze. She needed to focus.

Using a paperclip she’d found on the ground, she hooked the mirror to the line, all the while trying to ignore the grating sound of Terrorizer’s screams. With both hands free now, she could untangle the teddy bear from the string and purify the akuma.

* * *

The face of a German stared back at him.

He was angry—furious he got caught and couldn’t find his mother—but mostly he was scared. He wanted to destroy the Germans, not become one.

Hawkmoth had said nothing about this; in fact, he hadn’t said anything for a while.

Ladybug was working the teddy bear out of the line that wrapped around him and strung him up. The mirror hung right in his face, and though he thrashed and wriggled, there was no getting away from the blond hair and stern look that overtook his own features. It was the same face the soldier with the gun had.

Hawkmoth was suddenly speaking to him again, urgent and adamant.  _ “Forget the mirror. If you don’t get out now, you’ll never be able to find your mother.” _

It didn’t matter; she’d freed his teddy. She ripped the head off and Terrorizer screamed again.

When nothing happened, she frowned. “I don’t understand.”

_ “Now!” _

Her temporary confusion gave Terrorizer enough slack to wiggle out of the line. He landed upright, abandoning his murdered teddy, and immediately lunged at her. She fell backward, dazed and distracted. When he jumped on her again, she held him at arm’s length.

“I don’t understand!” she yelled at him, throwing him off her; it only worked because of their size difference. She stood, but she wobbled. “That should’ve fixed this.”

_ “Ladybug: alone, afraid, unsure. So weak and vulnerable in such a state. Take her miraculous now, Terrorizer.” _

He leapt forward, but she side-stepped, almost toppling over the ledge of the platform onto the railway below. A hand went to her hip, but with her yo-yo still dangling limp from a beam, she had no form of defense.

Another moment, and a train was visible down the line. It was the perfect revenge for the one thing standing in the way of him finding his mother.

She understood what he was doing when he backed her up to the edge of the platform. He could see the fear in her eyes—an invisible fear even he couldn’t manifest physically—one that ran deep enough she knew there was no escape. It was inevitable, really: her downfall. It had been waiting from the very moment she stepped into the station earlier that evening. He relished in the terror she was just now recognizing as her fate.

With nowhere to go, she fell to her knees in front of him. “Please. Don’t do this. I can help you.”

_ “Don’t listen to her, Terrorizer. She wants to take your power from you. How else will you find your mother?” _

He reached out to finger an earring. “I don’t believe you.”

The approaching train started to slow, but before he could throw her under, she ducked out of his arms and pushed him toward the tracks. Swinging his arms wildly at his sides, he tried to regain his balance. The train slid to a stop in front of him, his revenge gone.

When he whirled around to yell at her, he was met with a foot to his chest, propelling him back against the steps up. She pounced on him, but he tossed her up. She spun midair, taken aback when he forced her into the corner. She was flailing; it was all she could do with her limited energy.

_ “The miraculous!” _

He pulled them out, but with one hand occupied, he was easier to overtake. She slapped his wrist— _ “No, you fool” _ —and they dropped to the floor. Even as her mask dissolved across her face, she pushed him off the train. As if on cue, it took off again, headed for nowhere like the rest of them.

He watched as the sudden motion threw her off balance and she slammed against the wall. The crack of it echoed off the high, beamed ceiling as the train chugged away.

Hawkmoth was raging in his ear.  _ “I trusted you with one simple task and you fail me. One more slip up and I will remove your powers. You can still find Chat Noir and then your mother.” _

“No.” Terrorizer shook his head, watching as the train disappeared into the early morning darkness. “You’ve only made things harder, Hawkmoth. It’s time I play the man in charge.”

* * *

Adrien woke up to the sound of snoring and the feeling of wetness oozing down his arm. The ground beneath him was cold and hard; definitely not his bed. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand before blinking them open. Plagg was curled up in his elbow, his loud mouth cracked open and drool spilling out the side.

As he looked around at Master Fu’s kitchen, he remembered the previous night’s events. He sat up abruptly when Ladybug’s promise came to mind. Plagg tumbled to the ground, groaning about being woken up.

“Sorry, Plagg, but we’ve got to find Ladybug.”

The kwami glared at him. “I thought she was supposed to find you.”

Adrien frowned, but then shook the onset of horrifying thoughts from his mind. “I doubt she checked in here. Who would sleep in a kitchen?”

“You’ve got a point there.”

He searched the entire building, starting in the main room and working his way up to Master Fu’s living quarters upstairs. Still, there was no sign of Ladybug. Whatever was gnawing at the pit of his stomach clamped its teeth down—hard.

“This isn’t right,” he said to Plagg as he made his way back down the stairs. “‘I’ll meet you there when I’m done’. That’s what she said. Something went wrong, I know it.”

“Calm down, kid.” Plagg nibbled on another piece of cheese, not bothering to swallow before he continued. “Maybe she just got tired and went home. Or maybe she’s still fighting the akuma.”

Adrien pushed his way out of the lobby and onto the street. When someone on the other side of the road looked up at the sound, he opened his jacket to let Plagg in. “I still don’t like this.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Plagg muttered from his inside pocket. “If she’s not at the Gare d’Austerlitz, then you can complain all you like.”

She wasn’t, and Plagg didn’t hear the end of his ranting for a week.

* * *

Her head throbbed as she sat up. She didn’t remember boarding the train. In fact, she didn’t remember being in a train station at all. Why had she been leaving...Paris, was it?

A small whine beside her made her start, but the thing—whatever it was—worried her more. It was small and red, and if it hadn’t made noise she would’ve taken it for a stuffed animal, if animal was the correct word for it. Was it a rodent of some sort? Or a bug?

It rolled over as it whined again, blinking up at her. She backed up against the wall instinctively.

“Who are you?” it squeaked at her and she yelped.

“I—I don’t know,” she realized. She tried to remember her name, but she was coming up blank. The creature moaned as it wiggled on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” It shook its head and lifted up off the floor, floating hesitantly for a few seconds before flying over to her. “My name is Tikki. You must be...” She paused, scratching her head with her tiny paw. “Someone important,” she decided finally.

“Oh.” She looked down, uncomfortable with the suggestion. She fingered the hem of her dress, twisting it this way and that. “I’m not sure about that. I’m just...Marinette,” she said, tilting her head to read the embroidery edging her skirts. “I think that’s my name.”

Tikki giggled, holding out a paw for her to shake. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Marinette.”


	6. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien and Marinette separately read the same newspaper.

_ 26 août 1944 _

“Your newspaper, sir,” Nathalie said as she set the paper on the table next to Adrien’s breakfast. When he’d first asked to be apprised of the recent goings-on in Paris, she’d given him strange looks, seeing as they’d removed to their Versailles estate. But after four years of bringing him newspapers from every region, it was just another part of their morning routine.

“Thank you, Nathalie.” She quickly reviewed the rest of his schedule for the day and left him to eat alone in the dining room.

Adrien flicked the paper open. It was a new paper, _ Le Parisien_, only established five days prior, and being in Versailles, he got his papers the day after they were printed. Out of eagerness, his tea and pastries were abandoned in favor of reading the latest on the Resistance cells and their efforts.

The last three editions detailed the uprising of the last couple of weeks: how a group of Resistance fighters marched right into the city hall, how they demanded the Germans give them the building and leave. It had worked—miraculously—but the Germans weren’t completely gone. Germans and Parisians alike fought on the streets, though neither had enough resources to get an edge on the other.

They were at a stalemate, so as Adrien read, he hoped for good news. He wasn’t disappointed. Reinforcements had shown up yesterday morning and the Germans were swiftly defeated.

He set the paper aside and beamed at Plagg, who was munching happily on a wedge of camembert. “Can you believe this?”

“Hardly,” the kwami said wryly. “I don’t even know what you’re referring to.”

Adrien sent him a humorless stare. “I was talking about the Resistance, the liberation, the Germans being gone.” He took a deep breath, partly to calm his annoyance at his companion and partly to quell his excitement. “You know what this means, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. You can finally find Ladybug.”

After four long years, he could finally begin his search. That was not to say he hadn’t looked already, but with the whole of France under the German eye, he couldn’t exactly move as freely as he wanted to. He’d scoured Paris and the surrounding cities countless times, then slowly made his way through each of the upper regions.

And what he couldn’t do as Chat Noir, he did as Adrien. He held what he called auditions for Ladybug. He didn’t think she’d show up at his house in civilian form. No way; she was a stickler for keeping their identities a secret—up until the end, that is. Instead, he hoped that if the word got far enough, she might hear and investigate as Ladybug. Then he could tell her he was Chat Noir and they could finally be together.

His plan, since not exactly sound, hadn’t worked. Only crackpots and weirdos showed up. Oh, and Chloe, his childhood best friend, though hers was probably the least convincing performance he’d seen so far.

So now, with the occupation officially lifted, he could search the south of France. And if Ladybug wasn’t there...well, he wasn’t going to think about that.

He stood up abruptly, his plate clattering when he bumped the table in his haste. “I need to consult Nathalie on this and make a travel plan. I don’t see how I can get out of taking the Gorilla with me, but maybe we can lose him somewhere along the way.”

Plagg swallowed his cheese and followed Adrien out of the room. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Adrien frowned, pausing on the steps up to the second floor. “You mean Father?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged as he came to a stop beside him. “Won’t he have a problem with all this?”

Adrien snorted, waving a hand carelessly through the air. “I doubt it. He hasn’t bothered to check up on me in the past four years. Nothing’s changed in the last hour that would make him care what happens to me. As long as I’ve got the Gorilla tailing me, he couldn’t care less.”

Plagg didn’t offer any other complaints as Adrien walked down the hallway to Nathalie’s part-time office. He stopped just long enough for Plagg to hide in his jacket pocket before going in.

She barely looked up from her work when he entered. He let her finish whatever nonsense his father had unloaded on her so he could have her full attention. It was always best to present an idea to her while she wasn’t fed up with others’ imperfections; in that way, she and Gabriel were much alike.

When she’d finally turned her eyes on him again, he sat up straighter in the chair he’d taken and cleared his throat. “I’m traveling to the south of France.” Before she could protest, he continued on. “Since the occupation on Paris is over, I wish to extend my range for auditions.”

Nathalie knew about the auditions. He couldn’t exactly hide them from her or even from his father. Yet for some reason, they allowed it. Perhaps they wanted Ladybug back protecting Paris just like everybody else.

“I’d like you to clear it with my father, of course, make reservations where required, and find me tickets.”

“Tickets, sir?”

He could hear the disbelief in her voice, but chose to ignore it. “I think a train would be much more efficient than taking the car, don’t you?” An appeal to her practical side was sure to win her over.

She hesitated for only a moment. “_If _ he agrees to you going at all, I won’t tell him about the train.” She ended with a small smirk, one so rare he could only smile in return.

“Wonderful.” He stood to leave, but turned back when he was halfway out the door. “Oh, and I'll need an extra ticket.” He promptly shut the door so she couldn’t object.

Now he just needed to convince Nino to go with him.

* * *

_ 9 septembre _

Marinette tried to pay attention as Mademoiselle Bustier taught her class of young orphans. She’d been helping out for four long years—since she’d gotten off the train and discovered she’d ridden it all the way to Nice on the border of the country.

At first, she’d desperately tried to get back to Paris. It was the only thing she remembered. She thought maybe she had a family there, but couldn’t remember their names or faces.

But without money or any work experience that she could recall, she couldn’t pay for a ticket or even earn enough for one. And with the way things were going with the war, she hadn’t been all that eager to return. Running straight into a burning building was never a good idea.

Someone in the station had directed her to the local chapel where she found assistance. The priests deemed her an orphan like the rest of the refugee children that were taken into their care. They gave her a last name—Donadieu—to prove it. At her age, adoption was unlikely, but she was sure someone was out there waiting for her anyhow.

So instead of finding whatever family she might have, she helped with the younger children at the neighboring orphanage, Mlle. Bustier’s. She mended clothes too, when she discovered she was quite good at it. She even helped bake the daily bread.

Four years she waited. She promised herself that when the war was over, she’d return to Paris. She would return and try to find whoever may be looking for her, because she felt in her soul like someone was.

_ Marinette. _

The war dragged on, like all wars did, and even with her promise to leave, she was itching to go now. Something was calling to her, constantly trying to remind her of her family, of her friends, of _ some _one...

_ Marinette. _

If she only had a sign.

“Marinette,” Tikki squeaked at her, pulling her from her reverie.

“Sorry, Tikki.” She sat up straight, as if at attention, and turned at the sound of her name being called.

“If you could help me distribute these old newspapers.”

“Of course, Mlle. Bustier.” Marinette stood immediately, taking half the papers from her. The children were reading old articles to improve their comprehension and then Mlle. Bustier promised they could fold them into paper boats and float them down the Paillon river nearby. When the papers were out, she assisted certain children as they struggled to understand bigger words and concepts.

“Look at this! Look at this!” One particularly astute boy had finished early and was waving his paper high in the air.

“What is it, Claude?” she asked as she crossed the room to his desk.

“Take a look.”

He shoved the paper in her face and she reeled back to get a good look at the headline: _ Paris est Libere! _

She blinked in disbelief. After four years, the occupation was finally over. And what was more, the date on the paper read nearly two weeks past.

She understood Claude’s excitement. Most of the children were orphans because of the Germans, and to see that they were gone from the capital city was indeed exceptional news.

“Marinette?” Mlle. Bustier was standing at her shoulder, wondering what all the noise was about. Marinette shifted the paper for her to read and she gasped. “My, this is nice to hear.” She looked at Marinette and opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it and turned to the children. “Let’s finish our work so we can begin our boats and head out before it’s too dark.”

The children obeyed, Claude eyeing the paper Marinette still held. She handed it over, but she couldn’t help with their reading anymore. Her mind had completely deserted her. She had to sit down at her small table in the back so her knees wouldn’t buckle underneath her and cause her to fall. Luckily, Mlle. Bustier didn’t seem to mind.

_ Is this it? _ she wondered. But first, she needed to talk to Tikki and then Mlle. Bustier.

One thing was for sure: the itch to move she’d been feeling for four years couldn’t be stifled any longer. Someone was out there; she could feel it like an ache in her bones. It was time she got around to remembering.


	7. Qui Vivra Verra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien is frustrated, but Nino knows exactly how to cheer him up. Marinette is her usual late self, but it might be for the best.

_ 17 septembre _

Adrien hesitated as he stepped off the train. In the last three weeks, he and Nino had seen more of Southern France than they had of Paris or Versailles. They’d zigzagged up and down as they travelled east, only spending a day or two in each of the bigger cities to hold auditions. Still, there was no sign of Ladybug.

They’d seen hundreds of women, some too young, some much too old, and others so clearly not Ladybug—even if she’d had a serious makeover. Some girls had gone so far as to dye their hair jet black, which Adrien found both distasteful and aggravating. If he saw another fake look-alike, he’d scream.

“Buck up, kid,” Plagg whispered so Nino wouldn’t hear. “We’ll find her and Tikki.”

Adrien had almost forgotten about Plagg’s relationship with Ladybug’s kwami. He’d been so focused on his own selfish desires, which was so unlike him. But really, nothing he did these past four years felt right. Not with his mother and Ladybug gone.

“You’re right, Plagg,” he said, determined to give him the reassurance he’d claim he didn’t need.

He could hear the grin in his kwami’s voice, muffled slightly by the layers of fabric he wore. “When am I ever wrong?”

When the Gorilla had all the bags, they exited the small station in the coastal city of Nice. It was their last stop before heading home and Adrien was getting antsy. If Ladybug wasn’t in France, then where was she?

Strangers directed their odd group to the Hotel Negresco where they’d be taking auditions. It was rather quaint compared to what he was used to, yet it left him with a sense of homeyness no other hotel had. Maybe it was the view of the ocean next door that filled him with a hope of endless possibilities—or likely just the fact that if he didn’t find her here, he’d never find her—but Adrien felt like this was the day.

By lunch time, his attitude had changed.

Nino was his usual too-casual self while they watched the local girls traipse in and sulk out after Adrien’s decided “no’s”. He was helping with the promise of the reward when they found Ladybug. When Adrien had asked, he hadn’t been eager to tag along. Nino was an extremely loyal friend, but he was also a homebody. The offer of money to get his career started, however, was just the thing to make him a vagabond.

When she’d mysteriously disappeared—and sightings of Chat Noir had become less and less frequent—Parisians banded together to demand the French government do something about it. He thought it rather selfish; they only cared about getting rid of the Germans, but since it worked out in his favor, he didn’t mind their egos.

He wasn’t much different, Plagg reminded him constantly. Wasn’t he only searching for Ladybug for himself?

So the afternoon the occupation lifted, Mayor Bourgeois, pressured by the general population, announced the reward for the safe return of Paris’ lady in red. No one knew where the money was coming from—it certainly wasn’t the absent French government—but apparently the anonymous sponsor was willing to cash out a hundred thousand francs to anyone who could bring Ladybug back.

Adrien didn’t exactly like it, but it was useful at times when people got a little too nosy.

After watching a particularly bad rendition of his partner’s catchphrase, he lost it. “That’s it. I’ve seen enough.”

“Thanks anyway,” Nino said as the dejected-looking girl, who was very clearly wearing a wig, slumped away.

“I’m sorry, Nino, but I can’t take this anymore.” He stood up. He wanted to get out of this city that had only given him false hope. He had an urge to transform, to run, to get out of this melancholic funk. But there was no way he’d shake both the Gorilla and Nino. “Let’s face it: Ladybug’s gone.”

Nino frowned. “She has to be somewhere. People don’t just disappear.”

Adrien had never given thought to what could have happened years ago when she was on her own. But as he paced the hotel ballroom, he couldn’t help wondering if Hawkmoth had found her, taken her miraculous—done something much worse than he dared imagine.

And if she was dead because he hadn’t been there for her...

“Why are you so set on finding her?”

The question was long overdue. Adrien didn’t need the reward money; his father was richer than a king. he’d been waiting and waiting, but Nino, the great guy that he was, had given him the space and privacy he needed. But he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Adrien paused mid-stride on the dance floor and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I met her. Before everything happened." He shook his head, shocked he was saying it aloud. "I fell in love instantly. Who wouldn’t? She was—is—amazing.”

Nino was at his side, a hand on his shoulder, before he could even regret the words. “Why don’t we find a bakery and get some lunch?”

As if on cue, Adrien’s stomach rumbled. “Croissants,” he murmured in agreement.

“And cheese,” Plagg piped up quietly from his jacket pocket when Nino was a safe distance away.

* * *

She was late. Again.

Marinette had a reputation for this, and no matter how hard she tried, she was never where she was supposed to be when she was supposed to be there. This was the case with the train station that morning.

It had been over a week since she decided to make the journey to Paris. She’d talked to Mlle. Bustier the following day about her plans—er, Mlle. Bustier had talked to her. She’d guessed when Marinette found the article about the liberation that she’d be wanting to leave; she was right, but Marinette still had a lot to do at the orphanage.

So it was a week later, but she was finally leaving. After breakfast, she packed up what little belongings she had into the small hand trunk Mlle. Bustier had lent her, generously wrapping the one fragile thing she had—a picture with the orphans—before placing it inside.

“The pink dress,” Tikki suggested. She tried to pull it from the armoire, but its weight was too much.

Marinette caught it by the hanger before it could land on the old wooden floors. “I’m not sure. I’ve never worn it before.”

“You’ve been waiting for the right occasion. This is it.”

She’d finished the details on it a month prior, but with nowhere to wear her best dress, it had since hung in the back of her cupboard. But maybe Tikki was right. The start of a journey seemed like the perfect time to dress up a bit.

She changed into the dress and packed her old clothes in with the others before flicking the clasps shut. Donning her coat and purse, she took one last look around the only bedroom she remembered having. It wasn’t particularly nice; there were several spots on the floor that creaked when stepped on and the wind whistled through the windows that didn’t shut right, but it would always have a place in her heart.

Marinette lifted the suitcase off the bed and carried it downstairs where Mlle. Bustier and the children were waiting. She hugged each of them, promising someday they too would find their families—whether old or new.

And with that, she was off. Something in the back of her mind made her reluctant to leave, but her hope that someone was out there looking for her was far greater.

The sky was darkening as she made her way to the train station. When she arrived, the line at the ticket booth was long, another thing delaying her departure. She waited eons until it was her turn at the counter, her legs bouncing and fingers idly tapping at her sides all the while.

“One ticket to Paris, please.”

“That’ll be twelve-fifty.”

Marinette opened her bag, shifting her meager belongings around in search of her coin purse. Tikki found it first and handed it up to her. She opening it, counted and recounted, but still came up short. Where was she supposed to get four francs in ten minutes?

“How far can I get for nine francs?”

“Lyon.”

It was hardly halfway, but maybe she could earn the money there.

Since her work at the orphanage was a trade for her bed and food, she’d worked odd jobs around town to pay for materials for her dress. But it had taken years to get enough for the fabric and the thread and the payment for the use of a neighbor’s sewing table she’d needed for the things she couldn’t do by hand.

Jobs available in Nice were few and far between; that’s why it’d taken her so long to earn the money. But maybe Lyon would have more opportunities. There was no way to know for sure.

She moved aside when the woman behind her got antsy. She didn’t try to listen, but the woman's conversation with the attendant intrigued her.

“One ticket to Cannes.”

“Four francs.” Apparently he recognized her, because his next words were: “Audition didn’t go well?”

The woman handed over the coins and sighed. “No. Adrien Agreste is one hard man to please.” She pocketed her purse and waited for the attendant to date her ticket. “An all-expenses-paid trip to Paris, an opportunity of a lifetime, but I’m not the recipient. I guess when he means he’s looking for Ladybug, he’s looking for the real deal.”

The attendant slid the ticket across the counter and commiserated with his customer. “Rich folk are like that. Don’t want to hand over their money for nobodies like us, but can’t stop spending it at fancy digs like Hotel Negresco.”

She palmed the ticket and sighed once more. “It was worth a shot.”

Marinette knew about the lost heroine—everyone did—but she’d never had anything to do with her. She’d never even known anyone who’d seen her before. In Nice, she was more of a myth than a person.

But Ladybug was real. She had to be if someone was looking for her.

And this Adrien Agreste. The name sounded familiar, but she didn’t remember anyone from Paris. Had she known him before?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking for her, he was looking for Ladybug. Since Marinette clearly wasn’t her—and she’d never get away with lying, even though she hated it—there was no way she’d be getting to Paris for free. She would take her chances in Lyon.

But as her head told her to get back in line, her heart pulled in a different direction.

“Who’s to say it isn’t you?” Tikki said, reading her mind. “There’s no harm in auditioning. You can always go to Lyon tonight.”

“You’re right, Tikki.” As the woman said: “It’s worth a shot.”


	8. A Spot-On Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette and Adrien finally meet with the help of an interfering friend. A familiar scene is reimagined.

Clouds covered the dark sky as Marinette walked to the Hotel Negresco. It was growing colder, so cold she shivered in her warm coat. It would rain soon, but she prayed it wouldn’t put a dent in her plans.

When she entered the hotel, she took a moment to bask in the temperature difference. She approached the front desk and asked the concierge where she could find Adrien Agreste.

“He was holding auditions in the ballroom with his associates,” he explained to her, “but you won’t find them there. They went out to lunch.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back?”

The concierge rolled his eyes at her, not bothering to hide his annoyance with her and the situation. “If you’re here about auditions, they’re over. He doesn’t want to see anyone else.”

Marinette’s stomach sank. Just as she suspected, it was a wasted trip. She didn’t know why she’d gotten her hopes up; if none of the other girls were enough to convince him, how could she? This is what she got for listening to her heart. She should’ve listened to her head and gone to Lyon. But there was plenty of time to backtrack.

She left the Hotel Negresco and headed for the train station once more. The clouds above looked threatening now, and she was only a block from the hotel when it started to beat down.

“I knew it, Tikki,” she said as she took shelter under the nearest store awning. “I knew this was a stupid idea. Now I’ll have to wait here until the rain stops. I might not even make it out of Nice by the end of the night.”

Tikki phased through her purse to look at her—together they’d discovered it was something she could do, though neither of them knew how exactly. “I’m sorry. I should have let you leave when you wanted to.”

“No.” Marinette sighed and shook her head. She was angry, yes, but not at Tikki. “It’s not your fault. I wanted to audition too. I don’t know why.”

“I do,” Tikki squeaked. “You were desperate.”

“But it’s not like me to lie. I hate lying, and I was fully prepared to do it to get to Paris.”

“It’s alright, Marinette. You didn’t actually get a chance to lie, so you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I guess you’re right.” Marinette peeked out from under the awning to look up at the sky, but the clouds wouldn’t budge. “It looks like we’ll be here awhile.” She shivered again, the cold seeping into her bones; she couldn’t imagine ever being warm.

“You’re freezing! You should go inside.”

She looked back at the store sign. It was a bakery, which meant it was sure to be warm. She took a moment to open her bag for Tikki before pulling the door open and entering.

The white walls were adorned with gold trim where they met the ceiling. Racks of pastries lined the sides of the small shop, stopping where the large front windows began. Beyond the counter, she could see a row of industrial ovens in the wall. Though it was tight, a few tables for two took up the left side of the room.

The bakery reminded her of...something, but it was probably just familiar because she’d been inside sometime in the past four years.

When she had finally shaken herself from the sudden déjà vu, she realized one of the tables was occupied. Two young men sat staring at her, one of whom was ridiculously handsome.

* * *

Nino saw her first, standing outside the bakery and looking up at the unclear skies in trepidation. Her hair was the darkest black he’d ever seen, and when she turned, her bright blue eyes gave him an idea. She was definitely the right age, no older than twenty. It would take a bit of convincing on his part, but he’d do it to cheer Adrien up.

He had been sulking for weeks, and it was getting progressively worse. Nino hated seeing his friend like this; at least he finally knew why he was upset. He didn’t want to give him false hope, but this girl looked promising.

“Nino?”

The bakery door opened and Adrien turned to see what his friend was looking at. As he stared at her, stunned, Nino stood to greet her at the door.

“Stuck here because of the rain?”

The young woman smiled, but she didn’t seem very happy about it. “None of this was supposed to happen. I should have been out of Nice this morning.” She shook her head. “The name’s Marinette.”

He shook the hand she extended towards him. “Nino Lahiffe.”

She smiled again, this time genuinely. “It’s nice to meet you, Monsieur Lahiffe.”

“Please, call me Nino.”

Behind him, Adrien stood, presumably to question him on his sudden friendliness with strangers, or maybe to yell at him because he, too, could see the resemblance she bore to Ladybug. He had to be careful about this if it was going to work.

Nino didn’t give him time to say anything, shifting to let Adrien into the conversation. “Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Adrien Agreste.”

* * *

“_You’re _ Adrien Agreste?”

It was startling for Marinette to put the oddly familiar name to such a handsome face. She knew she’d heard it somewhere, but she’d never met anyone half so beautiful. She didn’t recognize those gorgeous green eyes, which she was sure she would’ve remembered if she knew him. Still, there was something about him she couldn’t quite place.

“Let me guess,” he started apathetically—she let him slide on that one, if only because her heart was melting in her chest. “You’re a fan.”

She was confused, and not just because she was distracted by the way his blond hair swept so gracefully across his forehead. “A fan?”

“Of my father, Gabriel Agreste.”

Gabriel Agreste. It was _ Gabriel _Agreste that she knew. That’s where she’d heard the name before. She had learned of the Parisian fashion designer three and a half years ago when she discovered her passion for sewing. Though she quickly fell in love with his designs, they were hard to come by this far from Paris, especially in the middle of an occupation.

And if he was the younger Agreste, that meant he modeled his father’s designs. But of course he did. With a face like that, he wouldn’t even have to model; people would throw their money at his feet for nothing in return.

“And you are...?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

“Oh uh...Marinette.” Her heart jumped against her ribcage, causing her to cough. What was wrong with her? She was never this nervous meeting new people. “Marinette Donadieu.”

He averted his eyes at the last name, the name that marked her an orphan. It was everyone’s reaction—to look away so they wouldn’t have to care. She preferred it that way; she preferred to forget too.

“I’m sorry, Marinette, but auditions are over.” His voice was cold, washing over her like the pouring rain outside and leaving her frozen.

Any idea that he was a decent human being flew out her ear. The ticket attendant was right: the rich cared for nobody.

After her initial wave of shock passed, she squared her shoulders and dismissed whatever thoughts of felicity she’d had for him. “I didn’t come in here to audition to be your fake Ladybug, sir. I came in to get out of the rain. But since I am so clearly unwanted, I’ll leave.”

She whipped around, swinging the door wide as she stepped outside into the frigid air once more. She’d expected warmth from the bakery. How wrong she’d been.

* * *

“Come on, man, give her a chance.”

Adrien took his seat at the small table and ignored his friend. He picked at his pastries, but they no longer looked appetizing.

“Adrien.”

He sighed, turning in his chair to look at Nino. “I’m tired of getting my heart broken. I’m done pretending to be okay with these fakers.”

“But it could actually be her.” Nino stepped aside to give him a clear look at the girl. She was still standing outside the bakery, apparently unwilling to risk getting drenched in the rain. “She has the hair and the eyes and she’s the right age.”

It was all true, but he didn’t want to admit it. There was no way the real Ladybug would give up her identity to two random men she met in a bakery, not when she’d been so reluctant with her partner. “This was a lost cause anyway. Ladybug wouldn’t reveal herself like that.”

Nino sat down and Adrien couldn’t turn away from the girl beyond the windows fast enough. “What if you miss your chance because you’re too stubborn to take it? Are you willing to risk it?”

“Everyone we’ve seen has lied to me.” It was the cold, hard truth, but it felt more like an excuse. “Why would she be any different?”

“Because she wasn’t here to audition.”

Nino was right. She’d said it herself: _ I came in to get out of the rain _. And not only did she have the looks, her confidence in standing up to his less-than-himself attitude was right in line with his lady’s.

_ Are you willing to risk it? _

“I don’t know,” he said, a little surprised when he heard his own voice speak the words aloud.

Nino nodded in understanding. “The least you can do is apologize.”

Adrien relented, palming the black umbrella he’d brought in case the weather turned sour. He paused at the door, unbreathing as he watched her through the glass. She glared at him—he didn’t blame her—when he exited the building, her eyes wary as he opened the umbrella and lifted it to cover his head despite the awning above.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you back there,” he started, his insides rolling in uncertainty. “Ladybug means a lot to me and I caught you in the middle of my own problems.”

Her face softened slightly at his words, but he wasn’t done yet.

“I judged you and I shouldn’t have. I assumed you had followed us here to audition because you really do look like her. I won’t deny it.”

She was silent for a moment before turning to face him. “I look like her?”

“Yes,” he breathed, though even that was hard now. “That’s why I was so rude. You look like her more than anyone else I’ve seen and they’ve all lied to me about who they were. You didn’t. You didn’t even want to audition.”

“I did, actually,” she confessed in a small voice.

He glanced at her curiously. Had he been right about her? Was she just a crazed fan? But she was still talking, explaining in the best way she could.

“It’s a long story.” It was almost a question and he knew immediately what she was asking.

He leaned forward, peering up from under his umbrella at the unaltered sky. “I think we’ve got the time.”

She looked at him gratefully, taking a breath to gather her bearings. “I came to Nice four years ago, no clue who I was or if I had a family. That’s why the priests named me Donadieu; they figured I was another orphan of the war. I’m...trying to get to Paris, but I don’t have the money for it.”

He could tell she was embarrassed to admit it when she ducked her head to hide her blush, but he didn’t care. Nino wasn’t exactly rich either; money had never factored in to who he chose to spend time with.

“I overheard someone talking about the auditions at the train station and thought I’d see if maybe things might work out in my favor. When I got to the Hotel Negresco, they told me you weren’t taking auditions anymore. I was on my back to the station when it started to rain and, well, this was the closest place.” She finally met his eye. “I honestly didn’t expect to find you here.”

If the story was all coincidence, he could write it off as just that—a story. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the fact that her eyes were the exact bluebell color of Ladybug’s, but something told him she wasn’t lying.

And what’s more, he wanted to believe it. He wanted to have finally found her. Perhaps that’s what convinced him the tale wasn’t coincidence. It had to be fate.

“Why Paris?”

“It’s insane,” she started slowly, hedging, “but it’s all I remember.”

The memory loss, the time frame, the city—the feeling in his gut that wanted him to believe their meeting was the universe paying him back for everything that had happened to him—it all added up. There was a strong possibility she was Ladybug and just couldn’t remember. That’s why she disappeared four years ago, or it could be why.

Marinette was his best bet. After all, he’d scoured the whole of France and found nowhere near as close enough to Ladybug as she was. But he didn’t want someone close enough. He wanted Ladybug.

There was every chance she wasn’t here—that she’d fled to another country to take shelter and that’s why he hadn’t found her in France. That would mean she wasn’t Marinette. And that he’d been searching in all the wrong places the entire time. And that if only he expanded his search to include the surrounding nations...

And—and he was getting ahead of himself.

First things first, he needed to be absolutely positive Marinette was Ladybug. He needed to get her to come to Paris with him, and then he needed to introduce her to Alya.

He hadn’t intended to ask when he came out here, but he couldn’t back down now. “If you can’t forgive me, then take my umbrella.” He held it out to her. “Take it and you’ll never have to see me again. But”—he had to be crazy—“if you can, I’ll get you to Paris.”

She stared at the crooked handle of the umbrella where his hand rested, and when she lifted her own to reach for it, his heart skipped a beat.

...

_ No. _

...

“Thank me—I mean, th-thank you.” She pushed the umbrella away, smiling up at him, and he could breathe again. “But I won’t need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: I won't be posting from now on until the end of November, but I should be back by December third. I hope you're enjoying this story and thanks for reading!


	9. In Company with Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio starts off for Paris, with a few minor hitches along the way.

Marinette looked out the small window as the train lurched into motion. The station glided by, smooth and slow until the train reached enough speed that the landscape was zooming past. It was mostly empty fields and farms dotted with a house here and a tiny village there. Soon Nice and the vacant platform were far behind them. She couldn’t wait for what lay ahead.

They’d started off immediately after the rain ended, stopping only briefly at the Hotel Negresco to retrieve their belongings. The hotel staff seemed a bit surprised to see her returning with the young men; they surely hadn’t expected Adrien to be pleased with anyone.

If she was any more of a humble person, she wouldn’t have admitted the satisfaction she derived from knowing he chose her, of all people. But since she often prided herself on her accomplishments, she’d take pride in this too.

It was dark now, the rain drowning out the chance for any more sun that day. They’d all retired after a brief dinner of soup and bread. Adrien had spared no expense for their accommodations—first class tickets, a private room for her, and a separate closed compartment for him and Nino. She felt rather spoiled; she would have been grateful just to have a ticket in coach, but she wasn’t about to refuse his generosity.

Marinette was determined to thank him, this time without stuttering—where had that come from?—so when she heard a knock at the door, she quickly opened it.

Nino stood there, an empty hall to his left and right. No sign of Adrien. She tried not to let this affect her mood as she greeted him.

“Hey, man—er, Marinette.” He adjusted the flat cap he wore, lifting it up and pulling it back down again. She guessed he was either embarrassed about the casualty of his words or nervous about what he came for. “Are you liking the room?”

She beamed up at him, if just to ease his conscience. “Of course. It's more than I'm used to, but I'm very grateful just to be here.”

He relaxed at the positive response and smiled back. “Good. I’ll let him know.”

“Adrien? Why didn’t he come see me himself?” She didn’t like it, but something sank in the pit of her stomach. Had she already done something wrong? Or had he changed his mind about her?

He shifted uncomfortably, shy despite his commanding presence, or maybe because of it. “Uh, he was busy with work.”

Marinette frowned. “Isn’t he a model?”

“Well yeah,” he said slowly, not quite looking at her. “I meant he’s a bit overworked with all this business, so he's sleeping.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted him not to be lying right to her face, but he had all the telltale signs of a liar. He was fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, not to mention his bare-minimum answers and changing story.

She couldn’t exactly call him out on it. She was a guest here; if she did the wrong thing, Adrien could have her thrown off at the next stop.

“Nino,” she started, fully prepared to let it slide and say goodnight. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” he cut in. “He doesn’t want to see you right now.”

Her stomach sank. She knew it was true. He’d been avoiding her since the Hotel Negresco. Even though they had all eaten dinner together, he hadn’t spoken more than three words to her and he definitely wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“I’m sorry I lied. He’s...”

“Changing his mind,” she finished for him.

"No, no," he said, quick to interject. “I really don’t think he is. He’s just thinking.”

“Then he’s still trying to convince himself.” When he offered no rebuttal, she knew she’d hit the nail on the head. “I don’t get it. If he didn’t want me here, why did he ask me?”

Nino sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. “He’s...confused.” It seemed like such a lame answer, but it’s the one he stuck with. “He’s spent a lot of time looking for Ladybug and he just wants to make sure he found her.”

“So he’s going to avoid me until we get to Paris and this Alya woman tells me whether or not I’m Ladybug?”

“He’ll come around, Marinette.” He seemed so sure, and she wanted to believe him. “He just needs time.”

It didn’t make sense to her, but she wasn’t going to push him. Still, one thing didn’t sit right in her mind.

“Why does Adrien want to find Ladybug?”

Nino coughed into his fisted hand. “There’s a...reward out on her. You know how rich people like money.”

Marinette nodded. It was a plausible explanation, maybe even the truth, so why did she feel like it wasn’t? Adrien was born to a fashion designer richer than Croesus, but now that he was older, he could be wanting money of his own. Was his modeling job not enough?

Or was Nino lying to her again?

However she tried to rationalize it, the idea that a millionaire model wanted more money seemed silly to her. But Nino was a nice guy. It was unfair of her to label him as a liar, especially after he’d fessed up so quickly and apologized twice, so she opted to push aside her uneasy feelings and take his word for it. Besides, he’d known Adrien far longer than she had. She was probably just being paranoid.

They exchanged “goodnights” and she shut the door.

* * *

_ She stood in the middle of a train station, looking up at the high, domed ceiling. It was familiar, and yet she had no memory of being here before. She wrote it off as similar architecture that she’d seen on another building. _

_ She was waiting for something, or maybe searching, but she couldn’t remember what or who it was. _

_ She was alone, the station lobby empty, including the benches where people sat while waiting for their train. _

_ A train. Maybe that’s what she was looking for. _

_ She made her way to the platforms, but the tracks and tunnels were just as empty as the rest of the building. Instead, she found a simple hand mirror, colored red and dotted black, lying on the floor as if left behind in a ransacking. _

_ She picked it up, holding it in front of her face. But it wasn’t her face that stared back at her. _

_ The girl looked very much like her—dark hair, cut and styled in the same short ponytails; light blue eyes the shade of a clear day’s sky; freckles spattered across her small, button nose and rosy cheeks—except her eyes, sad and unfocused, were frozen behind a mask of scarlet and ebon. _

_ A voice, not her own, came up through her throat and fell past her lips. “Let me help you.” _

_ She turned, as if her movements were rehearsed and she was merely a marionette playing along to the strings that were tugged and plucked in this music-less puppet show. _

_ It was just a shadow—a walking, breathing shadow in the form of a boy no older than ten. He was smokey, a blur of a person without so much as a face, barely there and yet more real than anything she could conjure. _

_ One wisp of a hand curled around a solid, black teddy bear, its gleaming red eye lifeless but pulsing. _

_ She shivered. She couldn’t help it. It was her gut reaction, to shake, to move, to  _ run _ . _

_ But she couldn’t. Her feet were stuck to the ground, held there by an invisible force made to trap her. _

_ “You can’t help me,” the shadow said, coming for her. “You ruined everything. You took everything from me.” His voice was calm, like he was giving her unchangeable facts instead of accusing her. _

_ “I’m sorry,” the voice inside her pleaded. “I’m sorry.” _

_ He was near her now, moving around her in a haze of grey. “You don’t get to be sorry.” He gained speed. Faster, faster, faster, he moved, swirling up and out and consuming all the empty space in the empty station. _

_ Her vision clouded over and she coughed, his smoke making her lungs burn with every inhale. She clung to the mirror as she stretched out an arm, trying to latch on to something—anything—that could bring her to safety, but she couldn’t even see her own hand. She was crying, but it hardly mattered; there was no way out, no white knight, no black cat. _

_ “The time for being sorry is over,” he said, another wispy hand ripping the mirror from her palm. _

_ It whipped through the grey fog until it was in front of her face again. But this time, there was no familiar girl looking back at her. Not even her own face stared back at her. This time, there was nothing. _

_ “Now it’s time to beg.” _

_ And she screamed. _

* * *

She screamed.

Something shook her awake and she sat up, breathing hard as cold beads of sweat dripped down her face.

“Marinette, are you alright?”

She opened her mouth, moved her tongue, did all the right movements, but nothing came out. She was stunned speechless.

She crawled to the edge of the bed, her limbs trembling with every motion. She slid off, not bothering to stick her feet in the complimentary pair of slippers. Stumbling over the cold floor and past the pink chaise lounge, she didn’t stop until she was at the small wash basin.

She pulled on the chain for the overhead lamp and light flooded her vision. After blinking away the sudden dizziness, she squinted at herself in the mirror, hands furiously roving her face for any sign she wasn’t herself.

Nothing.

No.  _ Not _ nothing.

The same black hair, the same blue eyes, the same button nose, and the same spattering of freckles across her cheeks.

“What happened?” Tikki squeaked.

Marinette moved her gaze to the lazy dot of red in the corner of the mirror. Tikki was rubbing her paws against her eyes and yawning. She hadn’t meant to worry her, but her own rapidly beating heart still had her persuaded all was not well.

She shook her head, closing her eyes against the dull ache that accompanied the action. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Marinette,” she chided, unconvinced.

“A bad dream, Tikki—that’s all.”

At least, that’s all she hoped it was.


	10. Snuffed Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathalie takes matters into her own hands.

Despite the late hour, Nathalie Sancoeur found Gabriel where he usually was—in his atelier staring up at the portrait of his dead wife.

Well, she was dead, but not forgotten and certainly not buried in the Père Lachaise.

Adrien had phoned earlier with the information that he and his composer friend were on the way home. He didn’t give anything or anyone away, so she’d had to ask to learn that, yes, he had found a potential candidate for Ladybug. He was reluctant in telling her, but she’d stressed the state of Paris and how much everyone needed to know their beloved heroine was on her way back to squeeze it out of him.

A brief description of her features was all he’d offer besides a possibility it wasn’t her. Not even a name was given, but the mention of a girl was enough. It meant he’d found someone he deemed worthy of the title, and though Nathalie didn’t know why he’d started looking for her in the first place, his alleged knowledge of the heroine lent ample credibility to the girl’s case.

She cleared her throat and Monsieur Agreste turned around. He was not surprised to see her here still. She hardly ever left her work at a decent hour, but then she almost never interrupted his musings so late. “What is it, Nathalie?”

“Your son, sir,” she said, her hands folded in front of her. “He has telephoned to say he is coming home.”

He frowned as if confused at the thought his son wasn’t here. She had discussed it with him before Adrien left, and he’d given his consent for the trip, but she wasn’t too sure he understood what any of it meant. He hadn’t been thinking straight since Emilie’s death, if he still thought at all.

He shook his head. “And why exactly are you telling me? I’m sure you have it under control.”

Nathalie pressed her lips into a thin line to keep from smiling. Gabriel trusted her, and the praise was good for her, even if it meant he had no idea what Adrien was doing or where he was. “I thought you might want to know what he has to say. He tells me he is traveling with a young woman.”

He flicked his eyes up to her. “Then he’s found her?”

“Not exactly.” She didn’t want to be blamed for the fact this girl might not be Ladybug, but the news was still positive, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear. “It’s a strong possibility that she is, though Adrien still seemed doubtful. He plans to take her to the new reporter that writes the column about heroes. She apparently has a startling amount of research on Ladybug. She may be the only one who can say for sure one way or the other.”

She expected anger, or maybe just the shadow he was prone to casting across the room, but she didn’t get either. He swayed, perhaps dizzy with giddiness, and then stumbled.

No, his reaction was certainly not what she expected.

He caught himself on the podium where he sketched designs, scattering loose papers across the black and white tiled floor.

She took a step forward, too far to reach him but there just in case. “Sir?”

He lifted his free hand toward her, shaking his head. “I’m alright, Nathalie, thank you. I just can’t believe it. He’s found her.”

She wanted to remind him that it wasn’t necessarily true, but the pure look of wonder and hope on his face stopped her from squashing his optimism into a thousand million pieces. He deserved to believe that things were getting better, that his wife could come back to him. And soon.

So instead she tried her hand at smiling. “Yes, it looks like he has.”

He sobered quickly, ready to jump back into his plans from where he left off. “It’s time we call back an old friend.”

Years ago, when Terrorizer had decided to do his own thing and Gabriel was too overcome with grief because of the loss of his wife and then the loss of Ladybug—his one chance to correct his wrongs—he’d done nothing. Slowly, he picked himself up again and began researching what he could to bring Emilie back.  He’d discovered that if he could combine the right miraculous, what he’d already been searching for, he could resurrect her and they would be a family again. But the miraculous he needed was Ladybug’s earrings and Chat Noir’s ring.

He let Chat Noir roam free, knowing he was also searching for his partner and he had the best chance of finding her. So far, he’d had no luck, but apparently Adrien had.

Nathalie watched as he straightened and brought himself before the portrait. He pressed the appropriate buttons and stood back, letting the floor descend into the abyss. Once the platform had raised them both into the observatory, he called upon Nooroo to transform him.

It was the first time he’d done it in almost four years, and even though she’d seen it a thousand times, it still gave her chills. This time around was even more thrilling because of the wait; he was turning back into himself and it was exciting to know he trusted her enough to let her come along for the journey.

After a moment of waiting in silence, Nathalie fought the urge to clear her throat. Nothing was happening. At least, nothing that she could see. Hawkmoth remained silent, which meant one of two things. He was either simply observing Terrorizer and waiting for his moment or—

She shuddered to think he couldn’t connect to his minion. But it had been four years since he’d tried and almost three since they’d last seen the boy.

He was still out there. There had been no black butterfly returning, no chance Ladybug had purified one, which meant he was still Terrorizer.

She had no doubt he was lying in wait, watching for all his prey to get nicely gathered together so he didn’t need to do anything but pounce. The question was whether Hawkmoth could convince the boy he wasn’t an enemy.

An explosion of anger broke Nathalie from her thoughts, and she turned her attention toward her boss. Hawkmoth had one hand clenched tightly over the handle of his cane. His grip was so tight, she wondered if his enhanced physical strength combined with his inflamed irritation was enough to break the magic of the miraculous and shatter the glass knob.

“Sir?”

He aimed raging eyes at her and she stepped back involuntarily. She believed he would never intend to hurt her, but she’d seen firsthand what exactly his emotional outlets included and did not want to get caught in the middle.

He seemed to sense her wariness and turned his back on her. “He’s not there. And I cannot recall the akuma.”

She frowned at the news. “He must be somewhere. No one disappears off the face of the earth like that.”

“People disappear all the time,” he said, dropping to the ground in exhaustion. In response, a kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in a white swooping arc. “I would know.” This time when his dark, glazed stare swung in her direction, he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve made it happen."

In a silent agreement, Nooroo left his master with a flash of blackened purple. The kwami watched on nervously, then attempted to remedy the situation. “Adrien will be back soon with Ladybug. She can fix this.”

Gabriel didn’t argue, though Nathalie knew what he was thinking: Ladybug wouldn’t help them willingly. Without control of Terrorizer, he had no way to capture her without risking himself. He couldn’t recall the akuma to send out another unless she got involved.

And that was exactly what she would do, but Gabriel was in no state of mind to do this right now.

She walked towards him, her heels clicking on the observatory floor in a steady staccato beat. She curled one hand under his arm and helped him stand. “You should rest, sir.”

He followed reluctantly as she led him back to the platform and through his atelier. The house felt hollower than normal as they moved through the lobby, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. She pulled back the covers and he curled up into himself; she hoped it wouldn’t be forever.

Before she could stop herself, she had laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gabriel. This is not the end.”

She left him there and returned to the atelier where she pulled open the safe behind Emilie’s portrait. She withdrew the one other miraculous he had managed to find—the peacock—and pinned the brooch to her blazer, a flash of indigo zooming around her ear. Closing the safe, she pressed the combination and let the platform take her to the observatory.

As she rose up under the high dome, she turned to the kwami. “Tell me what I can do.”

Duusu introduced himself and gave a brief explanation of his powers. With it came a sense of relief; this was exactly what she needed.

After transforming, Mayura didn’t wait for a suitable emotion to take advantage of. She didn’t need to. She was angrier than most of Paris combined. She plucked a feather from her fan and held it in the palm of her hands, infusing the secondhand grief and despair she had from Gabriel. She held the amok between thumb and finger as she reached for the pair of glasses she had removed earlier.

When she combined the two, dark blue ether bubbled into the figure of a girl who didn’t waste time waiting around. The sentimonster leapt through the observatory window, the glass still intact after it had gone.

As the sky began to lighten with the rising sun, Mayura sat back to watch as the product of her carefully-concealed passion ran south through the early morning.

* * *

Terrorizer closed his eyes against the face he saw in the mirror. Though he had been staring at it for the past four years, it still sent creatures crawling underneath his skin. Now, at least, he could look at the face and not scream.

He set the mirror face-down on the cement beside him where he sat below Paris. After searching France for months that led into years, he’d come back to the city where he’d lost his mother. He had found neither her nor Ladybug, but if there was a chance either of them would return, he needed to be here. Even if that meant camping out in the sewers.

When the grating sound of metal on metal from above alerted him to the workers on their way down, he palmed the mirror once more and slid around the corner of the passageway. But the men came closer and he had to slip around another corner.

They seemed to follow him everywhere he went, so he decided, since it was still early and very few people would be on the streets, he would leave the sewers until they left. He lifted the hood of the parka he’d stolen from a German officer two years before; he would need to conceal his face so no one shouted bloody murder. More than once he'd had to run from the authorities because he hadn't been careful enough.

The early morning light, though low and faded, still hurt his unadjusted eyes. He barely noticed the unusual amount of people on the streets. He lowered his head when he did, and made his way to the nearest alley where he tucked himself behind a silver trash can.

He leaned his head against the wall, and almost as soon as he did, something glinted above between the buildings. It couldn’t have been the sun; it was far too early for something so bright and high in the sky. He waited for it to happen again, but when it didn’t, he pulled himself up the fire escape to check it out.

Running across the tops of the buildings was a girl. Except her skin wasn’t flesh and bone—it was glass.

Before he could decide what it meant, she disappeared behind a building. She didn’t reappear, and though instinct told him she was an omen of something to come, he didn’t try following her.

Whatever reason she was here, it would only serve to further his goals.


End file.
